


lie on the floor without holding on

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Get together fic, Hurt/Comfort of sorts, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 06:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Archie gets drunk; Jughead lends a hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a cute jarchie headcanon sent to me by mickrxry on tumblr!! not precisely what they prompted, but close, and i really enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> hope you all like it too!

**From: Anchovie**  
_11:47pm  
__d udw_

**_11:49pm  
_ ** _dude_

**_11:53pm  
_ ** _r u ther? call mee_

**To: Anchovie**  
_11:55pm  
__what is your problem? are you dying?_

**From: Anchovie**  
_11:57pm  
__no._

**_11:58pm  
_ ** _maybe_

**_12:00am  
_ ** _call me_

 

Jughead rolls his eyes but taps Archie’s name at the top of the screen, and when it prompts _‘Call ###-###-####_ ,’ he selects yes. He raises the phone to his ear and sighs as it trills. It rings about three times before the line goes quiet, and Archie’s voicemail picks up. Jughead frowns but swallows the niggle of panic tickling at the back of his head. Archie probably just fumbled with the phone, like the clutz he is.

 

**From: Anchovie**  
_12:05am  
__sorry, dropped phone. again ??_

****

Jughead groans but redials obediently. It’s easier than dealing with the constant chiming and vibrating of Archie’s texts.

_“Jug!”_

“Yeah, Archie. What’s up?” As he speaks, Jughead returns half his attention to his laptop. He types idly as Archie mumbles for a while. When the line goes quiet, Jughead checks to see if the call dropped. “You still there?”

_“Y’re not listening,”_ Archie grumbles petulantly. _“C’mon.”_

Jughead casts a mournful glance at open document and bids his time for writing tonight adieu. He turns away from his laptop and makes a noise of agreement. “Okay, Arch, you’ve got my full attention.”

_“Good,”_ Archie breathes. He doesn’t sound mad, but his voice has downward lilt to it. He’s quiet and reserved and when he speaks, Jughead almost can’t hear him. _“I’m really drunk.”_

Jughead holds back another groan. “Why are you really drunk?”

_“Reggie’s idea, bad idea.”_ Archie goes quiet again for a few moments. _“I fucked up, Juggie.”_

“How did you fuck up?” Jughead replies politely. He’s seldom been on the receiving end of drunken Archie (before they drifted and before football, Archie didn’t even really drink) but he’s got a good handle on how to deal with it.

_“With you,”_ Archie clarifies. _“M’sorry, I’m sorry.”_

Jughead’s eyes widen. “What?”

_“Fucked up,”_ Archie says again.

“No, no, I got that part. What do you mean—with me?” Jughead moves from the chair at his desk to his bed instead. Slowly he leans back onto the covers and cradles the phone close. He and Archie have already hashed this out and even if things aren’t totally perfect, they’re on the right track. There’s not much left to apologize for, unless it’s done in the form of burgers.

_“I ditched you.”_ Archie breathes heavy and his words suffer for it. _“For—for a stupid reason. It was all so stupid.”_

Jughead agrees, vehemently, but he’s not about to say that.

_“Should’a gone with you, on th’road trip.”_

“We could do it next summer.” Jughead’s own voice has dropped to match Archie’s softness. “Just me and you, wide open road.”

_“Really?”_ He shouts, but quiets down quick as though someone shushed him. _“I’d like that.”_

“I would too, Archie.” Jughead swallows. “Where are you?”

_“Uh, m’not sure.”_ The line rustles for a while, interspersed with Archie’s unintelligible ramblings. _“Betty might know. She was here with Ronnie a little bit ago.”_

“Okay, hold on. Don’t hang up, alright? I’m gonna text Betty real quick.”

Archie grunts in assent. Jughead takes the phone away from his ear and fires off a quick message. He stares at his screen (the phrase “a watched pot never boils” springs to mind) and after what feels like an eternity, his phone lights up with an answer. In it is an address, and some friendly concern which Jughead ignores for the moment.

“Archie? You there?”

_“Mm, yeah, I think so.”_

Jughead doesn’t laugh, he just replies, “I’m coming to get you. Don’t move, okay?”

_“Kay.”_

Jughead takes just long enough to throw on another two coats and get his hat situated properly over his hears before taking off. He doesn’t bother saying buy to his mom or sister, just heads right out the door. As he jogs—thankful for the small town, the close-knit nature of the houses—he checks his phone every few minutes to see if Archie has responded.

“Jughead?”

At the sound of the familiar, slurring voice, Jughead finally lets out a sigh of relief. He looks around until he catches the mop of red hair staggering toward him, and meets Archie halfway.

“Hey, hey,” Jughead murmurs, “you good?”

Archie shakes his head. “Kinda want to die.”

“Well, save it for later.” Jughead pulls Archie’s arm across his shoulders to take some of the red head’s weight. “C’mon, you’re coming with me.” Archie leans on him and doesn’t argue, and Jughead counts it as a small blessing.

The walk back to Jughead’s house takes three times as long as the frantic jog to pick up Archie had. Once their sneakers hit the dewy grass, Jughead’s not even sure what time it is and figures it doesn’t matter. Jughead fumbles with the keys for a few long moments before the door swings open on its own.

His mother stands on the other side, lips pursed but not unhappy. “Oh dear,” she coos with a glance over Archie’s drunken, disheveled state. “Come on, come on.” She ushers Jughead and Archie inside and gives them a small shove toward the stairs. “Take him upstairs, I’ll make some tea.”

“Thanks, mom,” Jughead replies as he tries to work out the logistics of getting Archie _up_ the stairs. Archie seems to realize the conundrum because he looks just as befuddled, and it’d be cute if the scent of whiskey and gin weren’t coming off him in waves. “Okay, we can do this, Archibald.” He tugs and slowly but surely, they make it up the stairs. They’re halfway up when the tea is ready, and his mom follows patiently behind them with two steaming mugs.

“Thanks, mom,” he tells her again after Archie is dumped into his bed, sans sneakers, and the mugs of tea are on the bedside table. “I’m sorry about this. He texted me, and on the phone—I just didn’t think it was a good idea to leave him there.”

His mom brings him close and kisses the top of his head chastely. “Just make sure he doesn’t throw up on anything important. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Jughead nods, throat tight. He lets the door fall mostly shut after his mom leaves, though not all the way. He turns back to Archie and isn’t surprised to see his best friend dozing lightly and looking a bit green around the gills. Jughead busies himself with getting a couple extra blankets together, stripping out of his excess jackets and abandoning them by his closet. He takes one of the mugs, not too hot and not too cold now, and sits at the foot at the bed.

He sips, and watches his bed friend for a while, messes around on his phone until his eyes start to droop too. When his tea is gone and Archie’s mug is too cold to bother with, Jughead works on setting up a makeshift bed on the floor.

“Jug.” The muffled, single syllable catches his ear just as he’s ready to fall onto his pile of blankets. “You don’t gotta do that.”

Jughead looks over. “Uh, yeah, I think I’d rather. If you’re gonna be scrambling to throw up in the middle of the night,” well, early morning, but that’s beside the point, “I don’t want to be in the way.”

Archie pouts and looks at the wastebasket. “You like sleeping by the wall, though.” He states it, but his voice wavers with curiosity. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You stink,” Jughead says next. “You smell like whiskey and gin. Isn’t the number one rule of drinking to not mix your alcohols?”

Archie shrugs. “Help me up n’I’ll go brush my teeth.”

Jughead shakes his head. “It’ll take us forever to get you up, let alone to the bathroom. You can spit in the trashcan, give me a sec.” He waits for a jerky nod of agreement before slipping out. He grabs Archie’s toothbrush—and yes, he does still have one that’s all his own—and wets it, applies the toothpaste. He grabs the mouthwash too, and meanders back to his room.

Archie is halfway sitting up when Jughead gets back and looks less inclined to spew chunks. He accepts the toothbrush and mouthwash, both sheepish and grateful, and Jughead feels awkward as he waits for Archie to finish. Rather than bothering with another trip to the bathroom, Jughead sets both items aside after Archie passes them back. Then, Jughead stands beside the bed and stares.

“What?” Archie asks as he maneuvers himself under the blankets. “Still stink?”

Jughead shrugs. “I can sleep on the floor.”

Archie frowns, then holds the blankets up as an invitation. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re never gonna get comfortable—!”

“And I’m gonna get comfortable with you clinging to me all night?”

“—and you’re going to be cranky tomorrow.”

Jughead feels his cheeks warm, especially at Archie’s dopy, all-knowing grin. Rather than admit defeat aloud, he climbs into bed too but glares at his best friend the whole time. “This proves nothing.”

Archie shrugs. “Okay,” he agrees. He shuffles closer until his nose and Jug’s are nearly brushing, both of their heads resting on pillows. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jughead says easily. “Couldn’t leave you there.” He lets his eyes slip shut but keeps his attention focused on his friend, even when the conversation doesn’t continue right away.

 

He comes to only a few minutes later, startled by a heavy, warm hand encasing his own. “Archie?” He mumbles.

“Sorry I woke you.” The hand wrapped around Jughead’s doesn’t let go, and the roaming fingertips don’t stop tracing his skin.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Jughead retorts. He shivers at the touch but doesn’t retract his hand. “What’re you doing?”

“Thinking too loud.”

Jughead opens one eye to see Archie staring at him intently. “Care to share?”

“You’re gonna be mad.”

Jughead blood boils for an instant, but settles just as fast. “No, I won’t.” He opens his other eye in an effort to stay more awake and more alert. “Unless you’re telling me you’re getting back with Grundy.”

Archie chokes on his next inhale. “No, no, no, nothing like that.”

Jughead nods. “Okay, then I won’t be mad.” He squeezes Archie’s hand, laughing softly when his friend jumps. “No matter what, okay?”

“… Okay.”

“Unless you’re still drunk, then maybe it should wait.”

Jughead watches Archie consider the words, clearly weighing the options in his head.

“Not that drunk. Only a little.”

“Save it for tomorrow, I’ll be here.” Jughead relaxes into the comfort of his bed again and squeezes Archie’s hand once more.

“I love you, Jughead,” Archie says instead of going to sleep.

Jughead keeps his eyes closed and his breathing even. “Okay.” He licks his lips, suddenly so dry, and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Okay?”

Jughead closes his eyes tighter. “You’re drunk, Archie.”

“Not that drunk,” he insists again. “I mean it, Jug. I love you.” A shaking hand comes up and gently cups Jughead’s cheek. “I have the shittiest timing but if I don’t say it now, I don’t know I ever would.” The hand falls, and the one wrapped around Jughead’s own slackens its grip. “You don’t have to say it back, I just needed to get it out.”

“I love you too, you moron.” Jughead still hasn’t opened his eyes. “Do you think I’d walk all the way to someone’s house to pick up just _any_ drunken fool?”

“It’s what best friends do.”

“No, best friends pick you up, make _you_ sleep on the floor, and then make fun of your hangover the next morning.”

“You picked me up, didn’t make me sleep on the floor, and are probably going to make fun of me when I wake up. What does that make us?” The corner of his lips turn up, highlighting his freckles and the glint in his eyes.

Jughead frowns as a blush burns across his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

Archie nods. “Okay. Like I said, you don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to acknowledge it. I don’t want things to get weird between us again.”

Jughead doesn’t reply for a long while; he strains his ears and listens as Archie’s own breathing settles. The rhythmic lull of inhales and exhales fills the room, interrupted by a snore here and there. Archie’s grip on Jughead’s hand loosens more until really their hands are only laying on the bed, close together but not interlaced.

 

“I love you too,” Jughead says aloud, though Archie is fast asleep. “We’ll talk about it more in the morning.” Heart hammering again, he leans and pressed a soft and dry kiss to Archie’s forehead. “Okay?”

Jughead is nearly asleep himself when a soft rumble answers. “Okay.”


End file.
